[A/N: This has been in my notebook for a while, so while I'm trying to grow
some inspiration for "Home not Mine" I decided to go ahead and post this.
Special thanks to callingyoume, Silver Meteor, Suzy Q (not on ff.net), and
AngelicAngelette for their excellent beta-ing!]
[Disclaimer: I do not own Moulin Rouge. Anyone who says so may find
themself with a rather large bump on their temple and an empty wallet.
There are two other phrases in here that I adopted: one from Les
Miserables, and one from Romeo and Juliet. Don't own those.]
Bon Appetite!
Memoirs
By MorphManiac
I.
When I was young
I had a vague understanding of the world
I knew there were high-class citizens
With their top hats and French cuffs
and always looking to boost their social standings.
But there were also the low class
who lived on the street
and helped old ladies just to get a
nickel or two.
And the middle class, the largest of all,
whose dwellers range from industry workers
to bakers.
The early years of my life are so
fuzzy
unclear
and confusing
that many parts of it-
I am not sure if I imagined it
or it truly happened.
My mother-did I have a mother? I suppose I did-lived until my age of ten
when she died
I think
of despair.
You see
the green faerie was my father's mistress
and I remember him as
loud
stale
cold
and the scars on my wrists from when he was not pleased
and he
(daddy please i didn't mean to empty it)
threw those damn empty bottles at me
(daddy it's not good for you i was trying to help)
but he would laugh while I cried
and cry while I laughed.
I think he and his mistress ran off
a while back but
I don't remember-I was long gone.
My mother once said that the richest woman in the world would be the one to
free herself from man's claim. It must have been in one of the few times
she was not tired, because she worked long hours at the
...work? I do not know.
But after one night
(come, whore, take your medicine be a good 'un)
I had had enough of his green mistress
and left to the streets.
I do not recall how I came
to the Moulin Rouge, only that
I found myself running and running until I
came to it.
I'd never been there
in my life-perhaps it was fate-
but I think I collapsed before it
and found myself in a dark room
with two large woman
cooing and cawing at me
(ooo she'sa pretty one)
(harold will be quite pleased)
(she looks like a dance-a).
A funny large man
like a clown
met me and asked how I was
I said
-politely as I could-
that I was fine but didn't know where I was.
He said grandly
"Welcome to the Moulin Rouge!"
and Fate held dominance over all.
I was taught to dance by one of the
stars
(was she a star? they were all stars to me)
and she taught me everything she had learned.
Rehearsals
were hell.
new shoes were a treat, and all of us had to wear
hand-me-downs
either too big or too small.
I normally took the small ones.
One night I was in so much agony
blood was seeping through my shoes.
When we were done
the cast shared a bed and room
and I registered to a corner of the room.
But, as more girls poured in, I noticed
their feet were also torn and beaten.
A kettle was warmed and we
soothed each other.
The black-haired one mentioned Satine.
I believe she said
"Bloody Satine...if she sniffles, she gets a night off. We dance with the
flu."
I paid her no mind,
but it was then my
dislike
anger
torment
hate
toward Satine began.
I think we knew that
she would one day leave us
and then we would be doomed.
When the Duke came
and then the writer
I knew it was a race for her
and the battle would surely
tear the Moulin Rouge apart.
II.
Satine was Harold's pet
She knew all the tricks
(that I myself would never use)
on men.
The audience of the Moulin Rouge
-mainly men-
were as much a part of the performance as
we were.
we were taught to entrance
and
entice them
(come on, Capitan, you can wear your shoes)
but they never wanted me
(get your dirty slut hands offa me!)
their prize was Satine.
Always Satine.
There was a time when a man
paid me
I was yet the youngest
and he was
(i like to think)
interested in me
(Sir, would you care to dance?)
and I in him.
{Madame, what is your name?)
We danced wildly
colors of
red
yellow
orange
spinning around us
I led him out of the hall
and we kissed
passionately
eating each other's souls.
I giggled.
(how i giggled)
He led me to a nearby room
where he showered me with kisses.
He tried to move his hands lower
but I resisted.
He did it more forcibly
and I resisted still.
(moneymoneymoney)
and we twisted and tumbled
but he grew impatient
and with haste
lust
greed
he tore of my costume
my beautiful costume
sure it would take a night
to mend
but he smiled
and a reminiscence of my father
filled my thoughts.
and after the deed was done
I learned that men
were not charming princes.
III.
Men stopped offering themselves to me after that.
My dancing partner once said
(he was male, but I felt dancers were a gender of their own)
that there was a change in me
that I was like an angry street cat
and customers were mice.
I thanked him for the compliment.
IV.
I once thought of running away.
That thought didn't last long.
It was after one of the nights
when you feel so
drained
tired
exhausted
that you want to scream
I'VE HAD IT
and throw open the front doors
and run to a church
to throw yourself upon the ground
and plead mercy
(Father take me now!)
but none comes
it never comes
and you
(and i)
are all
forsaken.
V.
The Rouge is dead.
I stand in its remains
as a changed
wiser
person.
I left upon the production of
Spectacular Spectacular
where I was sure all would fail.
I am told Satine caught
a terrible
incurable
disease
while still managing to win the heart and lust
of a writer and Duke
(respectively)
Satine and the writer hid their passion from the other
but the ill-fated star-crossed lovers
met their end.
Satine, dead.
Writer, devastated.
Duke, perturbed.
Harold
with his amazing electricity
met his end when
a spark caught a painted set
and he failed to save the Rouge
(or himself)
from burning to the ground.
Only the green faerie remains
and as I hold it in my hands,
I see it as a memorial
to those who do not rest.
-Finite-